


In Which Things Are Spilled (and not just the coffee)

by Azpidistra



Category: California Diaries - Ann M. Martin, Lizzie McGuire (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25696921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azpidistra/pseuds/Azpidistra
Summary: Ducky meets a boy. A smart, cute boy. But will his past keep them apart?
Kudos: 2





	In Which Things Are Spilled (and not just the coffee)

**Author's Note:**

> Found this crossover in my old files. Mentions of past Ducky/Alex, Gordo/Lizzie. Mentions of suicide.

(In which You May Have Spilled Too Much, and It Wasn't the Coffee)

Dave knows all about obscure nicknames, which is partly why after the initial chuckling, he doesn't dwell on yours. Just asks how you got it. "I had an adoration for 80s movies when I was younger," you shrug. "My family was watching Pretty in Pink one afternoon, and thought I was similar to the character. I don't mind it, really."

"Oh. Yeah." Dave wraps his hands around his mug. We are in a coffee shop, tucked into a booth towards the back. But while you have coffee (sugar, no cream), Dave orders a cappuccino, and tops it with cinnamon "I was called Gordo from when I was five. I only started insisting on Dave once we got to high school. My friends made the switch, only my now ex-girlfriend still calls me Gordo."

"Are you still friends?"

"Yes. We've known one another since we were babies. She's the only one I'd allow to still call me Gordo." He ducks his head slightly, and smiles softly. "We broke up, it doesn't mean we gave one another up."

"Yeah." You nod, and sip at your coffee. You're being very bold, sitting here as you are. But you are older, you suppose, you figured out long ago who you were and who you liked. You like Dave, you know you do. You think he likes you.

You hope.

"What were you like in high school?" you ask. He's older than you: Dave. A college sophomore to your high school senior, but he had already explained in minimal words that he had entered college a full-year ahead: high school advanced classes, and AP Exams.

"I..." He laughs a little, leaning back in the booth. You are aware of his eyes on you, warm and full of clarity and amusement. You dare not turn away. "I wasn't much of anything, as it were. I didn't join any activities as much as I flitted on the edges of them. I helped stage manage drama productions, but I never was on the stage. I helped edit and shoot for the A/V club, but I never really went to meetings. I played soccer for three years, not sure if I was ever any good. I occasionally photographed for the school paper, and I attended every gleet club performance. I enjoyed high school well enough."

"Really?"

"Sure. My friends helped."

You nod. For a moment, you allow yourself to think about your friends. Jay, who simply grew away. Alex, who went away, only to come back, only to leave you again. Sunny, and Dawn, and Amalia, and even Maggie, spirited, beautiful and mostly grown up, who'd you never leave; ever. You nod, and your smile is just a tad melancholy. "I can understand that."

You feel Dave's foot against yours, a warm presence, strangely comfortable. "Tell me something about your first kiss," he says, and you wonder if this is supposed to be some way to cheer you up.

"Her name was Sunny," you hear yourself say. "She was - no, is - one of my best friends. It was nice, just not -"

"Enough?" Dave ventures a guess, and you find yourself nodding. You sip at your coffee. It's gone lukewarm. You keep your hands tightened around the mug. "When did you know?"

"Just last year, eleventh grade." You find Dave's eyes, and you smile slightly. "This friend - we had been better friends in elementary school and junior high. He went to a different school for a while, only to come back. He - he was different, not necessarily a bad different, just different. More subdued, more serious." Once you start talking, you find you can't stop. You don't think you want to stop. "We started hanging out again, just normal stuff. For awhile it was enough to have my friend back, then it wasn't. We were together, for a while."

"What happened?"

"He left again, last summer."

"Will he come back?" Dave's foot is still against yours, still warm and still strangely comfortable.

"No, he won't."

You close your eyes for a moment: remembering the touch of Alex's lips on yours, the feel of his hands across your skin. You catch your breath, and remember the morning, just this past early-August when you got a phone call from his mother informing you he was dead. You remember the funeral, and going to Sunny's afterwards, and sitting in silence on her couch for hours, and she letting you.

"I'm sorry."

Dave's words cut through your thoughts, and you open your eyes. "Thank you."

10:59

You don't know if you'll see Dave again. It's not that the last meeting for coffee ends badly, you go off your separate ways on good enough terms; Dave even hugs you goodbye. It's just the conversation sort of petered away in unfamiliar territory after your confessions about Alex.

You can't help but think it's because you didn't know what to say, didn't know how to reassure Dave. You don't know for what or why, but because. Or because he didn't know how to reassure you.

So you leave it.

You can't help but feel disappointed.

11:19

In which you remind yourself, yes, it is too late to call. Even if he's not asleep, his roommate(s) might be.

Saturday Afternoon

(3:02: At Work, In the Bathroom, Hiding in the Stall Because You Told Your Boss You'd Be Just a Minute)

Dave comes. To the bookshop where you work. There is another boy with him, little bit shorter, lighter hair color, broader in shoulders. He says something to Dave, who nods. He smiles at you then. Dave, that is, not the other boy.

"When do you get off?"

"Oh." You glance at the clock. Three. "Four-thirty," you answer.

"Do you mind if I wait?"

You shake your head, and Dave smiles again. "Great." You can't help but smile back.

9:44

(At Home Again)

You find Dave in the poetry section. You ask him what he's reading. "Adrienne Rich," he answers.

"Good stuff."

Dave smiles again. "Yeah." He tugs at your shirtsleeve, fingers brushing at your wrist. "Come on."

You end up at the coffee shop again, and as if by luck, the booth from the last time is open. When the waitress comes by, Dave orders a cappuccino again, and after a moment's debate, you ask for a cup of coffee.

"Where's your friend?" you ask, inwardly wincing. That isn't what you want to ask.

But if Dave thinks the inquiry strange, he doesn't show. Just shrugs, and answers, "Off somewhere, I suspect." He murmurs a thank you to the waitress, who's back with both our drinks, and he reaches across the table for the cinnamon "Larry and I've known one another since middle school. I grew up in a town roughly halfway between San Francisco and Los Angeles. Most students from our high school go to college in one of the two towns."

"So you came to San Francisco"

"I'm studying film at the San Francisco Art Institute. Larry's at San Francisco State University. He could have gone anywhere, but he wanted to go there. Something about San Francisco drew him also." Dave laughs slightly. "Sometimes I think he knows me too well. He agreed to keep me company for the drive down."

"Makes sense." You stare into your coffee. "Is anyone else from your high school in San Francisco also?"

You're avoiding the issues, you know that. You're ignoring the questions you really want to ask, the answers you actually want. You're not sure if Dave's letting you, or if you're still somehow missing the fact that he might wary also.

"Who I was friends with?" He sips at his cappuccino "I mentioned Larry. He's studying Chinese. Miranda's with me at the Art Institute, only she's studying Printmaking and Painting. Danny's just over at Berkeley, studying Civil Engineering."

"Why didn't they come?"

"Along with Larry?" Dave shrugs. "Danny had something to do on campus, and Miranda went home for the weekend. It's her little sister's birthday."

"Oh." You wonder if you're missing something. "How about your other friends?"

"Parker's at UCLA. So is Veruca. Ethan's holding off on college, taking courses at the local community college, and working until he figures it out. Kate went to New York. So did Lizzie."

"Lizzie's your ex-girlfriend?"

"Yeah." Dave almost smiles. "How'd you know?"

"Something in how you said her name, I guess."

"Yeah." Dave lets out a breath slowly.

You nod, startled into looking up when Dave suddenly puts his hand over yours. You stare, waiting, looking at his hand over yours. "Ducky," he says.

You look up at the sound of your name. You swallow. It's not just the seriousness of Dave's expression, but the pure, unhidden longing.

His fingers circle around your wrist, and play with the cuff of your sleeve. You wonder if he's about to kiss you.

You realize you want him to kiss you.

He doesn't let go of your wrist. He says your name again. Your eyes dropped to his fingers at your wrist, but they catch his eyes again, and you smile. "Just listen, please?"

You nod.

Dave doesn't move away his gaze. "Your ex - he killed himself?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry. Because I can't begin to fathom what you must have gone through. Because I didn't realize enough to say something when you spoke - Because it took me this long to say anything."

You want to say It's ok or It happened months ago or You're here now, but you don't. Say any of it. Instead, you slip your hand just enough away that you can lace your fingers between his. It must be the right thing, because Dave tightens his hold around yours, and his smile is quick, but warm.

"It was during the ninth grade, in which Lizzie and I started finally dating. I had been trying to convince her to look at me for the better part of a year." Dave's tone was soft, but steady. "Suffice to say, something changed in the summer before high school. Not just with us, but with everyone. Our groups of friends, our outlooks. We had gone to Italy, and things... happened." He takes in a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. "Lizzie and I dated for three years. By the time we broke up, I already knew I liked boys."

"Who was the first boy you kissed?"

Dave nearly grins. "Boy named Reggie. He was a year behind us. We didn't date, just tried stuff. On a few occasions. First boy I dated was Arthur, I met him at Orientation."

"Here."

"Yeah. Here."

You don't let go of Dave's hand. You find yourself wanting to ask all kinds of questions: where's Arthur now? What happened? You're curious about Lizzie.

But you don't. Ask.

"We have something in common," you say instead.

"What?"

"We both have girls for our best friends."

Dave laughs. You realize you like his expression when he laughs: way his eyes crinkle, and his cheeks dimple. You realize you could get used to this: watching him laugh; making him laugh.

He squeezes your hand. "We have something else in common too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "This," he says, and leans across the table and your joined hands to kiss you.


End file.
